Lyrical Breakdown of THAT GUY - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "THAT GUY" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Tyler, the Creator weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "THAT GUY" is a testament to masterful songwriting.
• Rhyme and Rhythm Analysis: Our Lazyjot editor highlights the ingenious use of multi-syllabic rhymes and the rhythm pattern that Tyler, the Creator employs. Understand the construction of each verse and how it contributes to the song's overall impact.
• Syllable Pattern Insights: Dive deeper into the structural elements of the lyrics. See how the syllable count varies across the song, adding a unique rhythm and flow to Tyler, the Creator's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "THAT GUY" not only celebrates Tyler, the Creator's artistic prowess but also serves as an educational tool for aspiring songwriters. If this analysis inspires you and you'd like to see your own songs analyzed in this way, join the Lazyjot community. Register at Lazyjot and start exploring the full potential of your lyrical creativity. Turn your thoughts into rhymes and your rhymes into songs with Lazyjot!

Them niggas used to press me on the carrot-colored bus, ha (El Segundo and Prairie) That's why I'm paranoid 'cause niggas weird and really bums Hmm (Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof) (Hey now, say now, I'm all about my guap) Okay Hey now, say now, I'm all about them bands Shit, I'm on, bitch, you wouldn't understand Hey now, say now, I'm all about my guap AP, Richie, hmm, not on my watch 'Cause brodie said "Don't even press the issue" Yellow boogers in my earlobe, I need a tissue Oh my god, I'm really that guy, huh Yeah, bitch, I'm outside (Grr) LaFerrari poppin' on the 40 with the 5 (Ugh) One ticket, two ticket, three ticket, four million Put that lil' Maybach truck in the garage, huh Lil' Bunny Hop out, you seen me at the Pop Out Pandemonium screaming like they brought Pac out Stop it with the chitchat, we airing out the kickback Big stud energy the way I get my lick back, huh (Ugh) Hey now, say now, I'm all about them bands Shit, I'm on, bitch, you wouldn't understand (Ugh) Yeah, uh, I'm the suspect baby, I don't play victim I'll buy that nigga building just to evict him What that Coachella pay like? It was eight figures Why I don't fuck with them guys? 'Cause I hate niggas Oh (Oh) My (My) God (God), I'm (I'm) really (Really) that (That) guy I got my Chuck Taylors on, but they look like loafers (Hey now) I ain't sitting with you niggas, fuck I look like, Oprah? Rather put 'em in the ground, you niggas look like gophers (Hey now) Open doors for my niggas, bitch, I look like chauffeur, huh RIP The Ruler (RIP The Ruler), keep it sewer (Slow down) Stack the gouda, mind ya business, eat the cooter (Yeah) Oh my god, I'm really that— (Man, turn this shit the fuck up) I was up at Westchester dodging all the high beams Gardena swap meet, shopping bogus Ice Cream I'm a Hawthorne baby, shit is not warm, baby Four or five main bitches I am not yours, baby All these women is a habit Boyfriends mad 'cause they thought I was a F- (Hey now) Hey now, say now, get sticky like a hun bun You will never be the main, you're a plus one (Ugh) 300k in four days, CHROMAKOPIA (Ugh) Twelve days gold, I ain't even drop the 'luxe one (Ugh) Sold a million tickets first day for that new stage (Bink, bink, bink, bink) Want smoke? We can puff one (Ugh) One whip, two whips, black bitch, blue strips Green face Grinch, Tyler on his Dr. Seuss shit True shit, I can put a number where your roof is Paranoid 'cause niggas beef curtains, they got loose lips Oh my God (Oh my God), I'm really that guy Hands claps? Congrats? Never said to me (Put them shoes on) Put him on a pro club, that nigga dead to me (Lose my number, nigga) Stop with that fake shit, stop with that fake shit Stop with that fake shit, just stop with that fake shit (Fake shit) Le FLEUR* got me fitted in my best If you got a problem with me, nigga Get it off your chest Nigga, what? Get it off your chest (Huh) Get it off your chest (Huh, huh, ooh) I am not a tough guy, nigga, get it off your chest (Huh, huh, huh) I'm the type to bust on her and just lick it off her breast, nigga, uh I'm a freak, I don't beef (Huh, huh) It's a bird, it's a plane, bitch, it's T (Huh, huh) Cuttin' niggas off, want the rope? Aight, come, get it You don't love me, you love the optics that come with it Uh, uh, bitch CHROMAKOPIA, nah Worry 'bout tomorrow (Go, go)